


the flaw

by colloquialrhapsodist



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colloquialrhapsodist/pseuds/colloquialrhapsodist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuja speaks his first words to Garland. Also contains a brief epilogue. Written in 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the flaw

Kuja did not speak for the entire first year, and the old man was getting worried.  
  
He would bluster about and stroke his long beard while Kuja idled by, lounging on the furniture offered to him and reading book after book – the history of Terra, how to properly construct a Genome, a geographical description of Gaia, and other sage and boring titles that claimed to be instructional (for Garland would not let him delve into the library Kuja knew he kept deep within the bowels of his castle). There’d been exercises where he’d handed Kuja a sheaf of paper and asked him if he could copy out the following words, and Kuja had – with much aplomb – succeeded in surprising his caretaker in his ready comprehension skills.  
  
But he still would not speak, and the longer he held his silence, the less quiet Garland was. It was quite an interesting reaction that was incited upon his refusal to utter so much a single word, turning up his nose at the thought of conversing with his  _master_  on such a level, not when it was much more fun to watch him scrabble for a bit of paper while Kuja devoured yet another book. The old man paced, muttering to himself, clearly wondering why such a _precocious_  and  _talented_  Genome who could write and read like any able-bodied adult was holding his tongue –

“Must they all have a rebellious phase?” he wondered, his voice just above an aggravated mutter, intent on it carrying to Kuja – who loudly turned the page in the book he was currently reading and did not do him the courtesy of looking him in the eye. “I had created him specifically to be ready  _within the year_. What was all that training for, then, if the Angel of Death won’t even – ”  
  
“What does that mean?” Kuja interrupted, lazily resting his head on one finger, not glancing up from the page.  
  
It gave him immense pleasure to see Garland halt in his tracks and completely lose his train of thought. The old man sat there foolishly opening and closing his mouth, staring at Kuja as though he’d never seen anything quite like him before (which he hadn’t, of course, that was the benefit of being one of a kind). After a moment, Kuja tilted up his face to the old man’s and raised a single, delicate eyebrow.  
  
But Garland recovered quickly, smoothing the whole moment over and resuming his usual stern and wrinkled expression. “What,” he asked, coldly, “does  _what_  mean?”  
  
“Angel of Death, of course.” Kuja’s voice was snide.  
  
“… Have you not been paying attention, Kuja? Surely you understand what all this training is for.”  
  
“Oh, no,  _you_  misunderstand.” He smiled. It was not pleasant. “My purpose is clear to me – lead Gaia into ruination and war so thousands may die and Terrans can take their place. It is what you’ve been drilling into my head since day one, is it not?”  
  
Both of Garland’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Then it should be obvious what ‘Angel of Death’ means.”  
  
“No, it shouldn’t.” Kuja snapped the book shut, fully looking his master in the face. How he despised that wrinkled old face; it was no better a sight than the empty, vacant expressions of Genomes living below the castle. “You have failed to explain an extremely crucial detail and it could be the undoing of all our careful planning.”  
  
“Oh?” Garland was evidently curious, and slightly worried – Kuja could tell. Why wouldn’t he be? He had just announced a flaw in the plan, and he was proud to have found issue with it, as Garland could be terribly condescending.  
  
“What happens when they die?”  
  
Garland sighed. “We have been over this as well, I’m afraid. Their souls – ”  
  
“What _is_  a soul, exactly?” he interjected again. The old man was driving him to the very precipice of his patience; surely he was not pretending to be so dull. “Could they not, theoretically, band together and come and defeat me?”  
  
The old man stared at him. There was something strange in the way he looked at his prodigy, something dark and disquieted and Kuja did not like being looked at like that. “No. It doesn’t work like that.”  
  
Kuja’s lip curled. “I am asking you, then, how  _does_  it work?”  
  
“Kuja – ”  
  
“I have read every book you have handed me, Garland – hundreds of manuals and descriptions and directions and it’s all been very  _boring_  work that has done little to assuage my actual curiosity on – ”  
  
“You are not here to be curious.” His voice was sharp, above his usual disgruntled mutter. “You are here to do as you are asked.”  
  
But Kuja waved him aside as though he had not spoken because of  _course_  he was going to be curious and how could that foolish old man even think otherwise? “Of all these books, there is nothing –  _nothing!_  – on souls. That is the thing that makes me different from the others, isn’t it?”  
  
Garland didn’t speak. His brow was knitted.  
  
“Isn’t it?” Kuja demanded, again, when an answer was not forthcoming.  
  
“… Yes,” said Garland, with the air of a man being forced to admit something and only with great reluctance. “But it is only by necessity you are different, Kuja, I urge you to understand.”  
  
“So then,” Kuja plowed on, ignoring his last statement, “why has this not been explained in detail to me, if souls are so important? What do they have to do with death? What happens when you die?”  
  
The old man watched him. Kuja was defiant; his lip was curled and his face was paler than usual, especially what with the exertion of speaking his first words. But this was a conversation he had been planning for a very,  _very_  long time, only when he could be sure that none of the things Garland handed to him gleaned him any information. He was sure it was an impressive one, as well, because he was speaking as many words as he usually wrote down – an entire verbal essay. If he wasn’t so intent upon getting the truth out, he’d be much more pleased with himself.  
  
“… Nothing.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Nothing happens when you die.” Each word was brusque, calculated. “You cease to be.”  
  
Kuja’s lips went white as well. “But – but souls – ”  
  
“Souls do not think or feel, and they certainly cannot wage war against the living.”  
  
“But – ”  
  
“That is enough.” Garland turned from Kuja, his long black cape sweeping behind him in an upsettingly regal manner. “You have tested my patience for the day, Kuja, and I assure you that such conversations will not be held in the future. You shall do as I say and not inquire about things that are not explained to you in your research. Now finish that book; we depart for Gaia tomorrow.” And with that, he swept from the room.  
  
He did not finish the book before they left. It remained untouched on his lap for the rest of the evening.


	2. departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue. Kuja leaves Terra permanently.

“I am leaving.”

Garland did not turn to receive this; he stood on the top of the bridge, facing the tiny village below, his hands clasped behind his back, not even wincing in the blue light that radiated from every corner. “Very well. Be on your way then.”

“I shall not be returning.”

He stirred at this, giving the smallest of glances over his shoulder; surely he had noticed the chill emanating from Kuja’s tone, and he wondered – not without frustration – if that was the only reason the old man chose to physically acknowledge him. “Oh?”

“There is not much reason I should stay,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual; he was determined to be heard by the immovable stone that was his old master. “This world has become barren for me, a dead end plot that has long since reached its climax.” He tossed his hair loftily behind him. “My direction lies elsewhere, where my arduous machinations are finally taking hold.”

He thought he saw a flicker of a smirk cross the old man’s face, and hot anger bubbled up inside him. “My, Kuja. For one who would not speak for so long, you certainly have not had difficulty finding a lot to say.”

“Petty jibes.” His lip curled, and he raised his nose haughtily. “At least some of us grow beyond the realm of insults – ”

“And I suppose by that you mean yourself?” He was amused. Kuja seethed. “Your presence is not needed anymore. There is no need for such a flamboyant goodbye. Telepathy will work, as it always has.”

Oh, how dare he. How  _dare_  he not take offense to his departure? How dare he not get on his knees and beg for his greatest pawn to stay and carry out his bidding? How dare he not desire his company? The insolent –

“Well. I suppose you have enough to take care of.” Kuja idly examined his fingernails as he turned from Garland. “The screaming infant is proving a difficulty for you, is it not?”

But before he could speak another word, Kuja had marched off, and a horrible and daring plan hatched in his head and  _then_  Garland would rue the day he’d ever cast Kuja aside like an old glove –


End file.
